The Golden Song
The rain on the shield was not water. It was a low, humming vibration that turned the iron cold against my ribs, a chill that did not come from the wind but from the silence of the men who stood behind me. We were the King’s Watch, the teeth in the jaw of the empire, and we were waiting for the bridge to clear. The mist hung heavy over the river, a grey shroud that swallowed the sound of the...
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